I got the beast (and tonight he lies with me)
by ibuzoo
Summary: "It doesn't matter", Harry cuts him off mid-sentence and Hermione watches, observes the way his eyes turn sharp and his posture shifts when he raises, "I paid my debts, just drop it Ron." Ron's mouth snaps shut and the silence which follows is thick and electric, like right before a summer storm. (she never asks, they never tell and perhaps that's the start of her misery)


**I got the beast (and tonight he lies with me)**

**Prompt:** Death

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Modern AU / Organised Crime AU / Mentions of Death and Murder

**Word count:** 1284

**A/N: **I think organised crime AU's are the ones I feel most comfortable around because they just flow really easy from my fingers. Also we learn a really important lesson in this one-shot: you never mess with Riddle, like ever.

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><p><strong>o.<strong>

She breathes in his scent like an antidote, brewed from spearmint and fresh parchment.

When her lungs start to corrode and etch she finally recognises that he's Death incarnate and that he was the poison all along.

* * *

><p><strong>i.<strong>

Crusts of blood catch in the white wool of the cotton ball that Hermione uses to rub the dirt out of Harry's wound, a dark red cut that reaches from his pelvis up to his ribs. His tee is already soaked with thick red liquid and Hermione registers out of the corner of her eye how Ron buries his hands in the fabric, nearly wrings it out until his hands are wet and moisturised, a thin layer of red clinging between the wrinkles of his skin.

"I told you we shouldn't have messed with him, I fucking told you so- I fucking, God Harry, it's Riddle after all, I bloody told you-", the ginger stumbles over his own words and repeats them again and again, his voice frantic and panicking, his eyes darting desperately around to find anything to focus on - unfortunately he rests at Hermione's back and she feels the thrill of nervousness running down her spine, like a bad omen for something bigger,something darker, something far more terrible as she can imagine.

"Who's Riddle?", Hermione presses between her teeth while she dabs iodine on Harry's scratch, rubs the medicine in and she ignores the boy's hisses, shoots him a deadly glare out of her dark caramel eyes to hush him before she takes a compress and puts it on his wounded skin, then bandages it around his stomach. Once she finishes patching him up her gaze rests on Ron again, who's still stammering, cursing, "-should have paid him back right away, I bloody told you Riddle would find out eventually, holy shit, it's a miracle we're even alive - that you're even alive after Lestrange attacked you or should we call it tickle you because really Harry, you're still alive, he still wants his money, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

"It doesn't matter", Harry cuts him off mid-sentence and Hermione watches, observes the way his eyes turn sharp and his posture shifts when he raises, a hand pressing on the bandaged wound.

"I paid my debts, just drop it Ron."

Ron's mouth snaps shut and the silence which follows is thick and electric, like right before a summer storm.

She sighs and squirrels away the first aid kit.

_(she never asks, they never tell and perhaps that's the start of her misery)_

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><p><strong>ii.<strong>

There's already a queue in her preferred Starbucks that reaches the street before the shop and she sighs deeply, curses in her head. She takes an annoyed look at her wrist watch and decides that she won't wait approximately fifteen minutes for her favourite pumpkin spice latte so she turns around the next corner, types a message on her smartphone while she waits for the traffic light to turn green. There are voices behind her, whispers and murmurs that are just barely audible over the clamorous noise of London's busy streets during rush hour.

"-about MacMillan?"

"Deal with her."

There's the faint scent of parchment and expensive aftershave and the second voice freezes her spine, raises the little strands of hair that curl in her nape because the sound is dangerous, the sound is cruel like sharp shards of glass on raspy paper. But when she turns around all she can see is a dark black coat that rounds the corner.

The light changes to green.

_(there's a death notice in the newspaper some days later with bold letters where MacMillan's family announces she killed herself with a golden shot and Hermione reads it with shaky hands, her skin ashen and pale)_

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><p><strong>iii.<strong>

There's a pile of books on her arm, four thick tomes about different specialities in nuclear medicine and she balances them with cold fingers, tries to press the hardcover between her wrist and elbow while her bag hangs loosely on her left arm, sways against her leg with each step she takes.

She rushes past a dozen students and she's already heading towards the giant entrance doors when she spots him, tall and gloomy, slender hips but broad shoulders that define under an inflated black leather jacket. The fabric stretches over his ripped biceps and the muscles in his neck disappear under the white hem of a tight white tee that fits loosely over a pair of strait dark denim jeans and Hermione watches how his jaw works with every murmured word that leaves his lips.

She can't see with whom he's actually speaking because his conversion partner is hidden in the shadows, almost melts into the darkness seamlessly and when she pricks up her ears she can only hear the dark rumble of leather boy, "-Abbington Road 34, Diggory, got it, do you-"

The rest of his voice is swallowed by the rush of students passing by and she tries to get a glimpse at the black shadow, the grim reaper around the corner but she can't see anything besides a glimpse at the darkest edge - but the scent of spearmint tickles her nostrils for the rest of the day.

_(the newspaper talks about a horrific fire the next day, five deaths, among them the Diggory family and Hermione chokes on her orange juice, pales - but rests silent nevertheless)_

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><p><strong>iv.<strong>

"-I don't care what Rosier said Abraxas, just take care of Macnair, will you? My patience is beginning to wear thin and I don't really need to remind you what happened the last time when the incompetent-", she brushes past the man who presses his smartphone to his ear and catches his words in the wind while he hisses at her direction, curses something inaudible.

Parchment and Spearmint swirl around her senses and she turns around because his voice sounds familiar, almost haunting but his slender back already disappears between the masses of people on the streets.

_(she hears the news in the radio the next day, the voice of the reporter flat and without any emotions when he announces the dead of Dr. Macnair and Hermione bites down on her crisp bread while the cracking echoes terrifically loud in the back of her head)_

* * *

><p><strong>v.<strong>

She enters her flat and puts her bag on the table, rounds the old oak wood, leans down and pats Crookshanks on the puffy spinal before she raises again, rubs at her tensed nape. A deep sigh leaves her lips and she slips out of her shoes, enjoys the cold feeling of the tiles on her soles while she enters the living - and she instantly stops because Spearmint hits her nose, Parchment scratches at the thin surface of her mind while something eerie creeps on her spine, something hazardous that pours from the dark corner where her couch stands.

The first thing she spots are long slender legs in a slim fitted brand-name jeans, a casual sports jacket fits perfectly over a pinstriped white shirt and his neck is lean, his skin alabaster and Hermione stops, memorises bright perilous eyes and a perfect straight nose.

"Miss Granger, finally we meet," the stranger drawls and his voice pours like honey, thick and succulent and rich, like blood too, and she swallows, takes a deep breath, takes a step back. He smirks sharp like a razor blade, piercing like a butcher knife and she runs her tongue over her teeth, over her lips while he continues in the same voice, unaffected, "We need to talk."

_(she breathes spearmint and fresh parchment, sees a skull mask on his face)_

She doesn't lose a minute, nods and takes a step forward.


End file.
